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shirt to ask about the night's business. He made Mr. Munn,
who was dog-tired and rocking on his heels with sleep, stand
there, holding the lamp, and go over every detail, point by
point.

"Yeah, yeah?" Mr. Christian kept saying in a harsh, de-
manding half whisper every time Mr. Munn hesitated. Then,
while Mr. Munn went on with the account, Mr. Christian
would nod his head and in gentle, meditative strokes scratch
his chest, which was covered with reddish hairs. Occasionally,
he tugged at the hairs, rolling them between his big fingers.

"That makes five you all took care of tonight, huh?" Mr.
Christian asked.

"Yes, five."

"All of 'em had warning?"

"Yes, and two had second warnings, Giles and Wagner.
All their plants were scraped. The others, just half a
bed."

"Wagner," Mr. Christian said. "Now I'd thought he'd
come in long ago; ain't no starch to him. Yellow-bellied as a
sap-sucker. I reckon something was keeping him out. But
Giles"—and he shook his head—"now Giles, he's a tough
one, he's a man, he is. I just hate to see him on the wrong
side this-away. I hate to see his bed scraped."

"Yes," Mr. Munn answered, the fog of sleep coming
heavily over him so that he could scarcely keep his eyes open,
and the lamp wobbling in his grasp.

" Good-night," Mr. Christian said.

" Good-night," Mr. Munn replied, and went off to his room,
leaving Mr. Christian standing there barefooted, in his night-
shirt, in the dark hall.

Two of the other times when he stayed at the Christian
place were nights when there were meetings of the band
captains, but two of the times were nights when Mr. Chris-
tian's band had also operated. Every time, after they had
stabled their horses and gone up to the house, they found
Lucille Christian waiting up. Once, she rose from the swing
in the yard, her white dress wavering in the shadow, and